


Dancer By Night

by The_North_Star



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ari this is for you, Ethari is a one-time exotic dancer, I have an OC in there as well based off a real life person, I started this damn thing like a year and a half ago, Janai and Khessa are also secret agents, M/M, Rayla is mentioned, Runaan is Secret Agent Assassin, Sexytimes, Zubeia is mentioned, Zym is mentioned, and a pee break before the sexytimes start, and now i'm done so I'm tossing it out there, for any of you in the TDP Spies AU this could be Ethari's origin story, most of the characters you see in the characters tag play minor roles, of a sort, the sex is LONG so get yourself some snacks and drinks, there's a LOT of talking so if that's not your thing beware, there's a lot in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_North_Star/pseuds/The_North_Star
Summary: "You only drink brown? Then my prospects are looking excellent tonight", he jokes weakly, holding up his hand as if to inspect his own deep brown skin in the club's dancing lights.But he doesn't miss how turquoise eyes roam his face, his body, drinking him in like the glass of scotch resting on the bar counter.(In which Runaan is a spy and an assassin on a mission, and Ethari is the dancer that catches his eye.And just so happens to be his contact for this mission.And is also his boyfriend.)(Modern AU, nightclub AU, Spy AU, idk anymore, i just liked the idea of Ethari being a dancer, sue me. Also, have some snacks and drinks ready because this turned out longer than I intended to. There's a LOT of talking, very dialogue heavy. It's fucking long, especially the sex, and I apologize, RIP me and now you.)
Relationships: Ethari & Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Ruthari - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	Dancer By Night

_Sunfire_ is Lux Aurea City’s largest club. It used to be a run-down theater before one Khessa Benachour purchased the theater and turned it into an astounding members-only nightclub.  
  
The stage was the main attraction, a wide, expansive one that boasted aerial silks and hoops for aerialists and trapeze artists, hydraulic platforms for lifting and lowering props, performers, and the occasional orchestra, and the seats in the audience that lowered and cleared away to a huge dance floor flanked with cages and strip poles.  
  
While Khessa would open up the venue for plays, musicals, and other ‘not-adult’ shows and events like her sister Janai’s birthday parties, most nights found Sunfire Nightclub boasting the most exquisite decorations, the freshest music, the finest drinks, and the most talented dancers in all of Xadia.  
  
Particularly one Ethari Chanda-Grant, a longtime, close friend of the Benachour sisters. An Indian originally from Scotland, born and raised, thank you very much, he had settled in Lux Aurea after graduating from the University of Edinburgh, finding his current boyfriend, Runaan Shadow, and his niece Rayla, and deciding they should live with him in a swank apartment thirty minutes away from Sunfire.  
  
Every year, _Sunfire_ held the _Trial By Fire_ Fundraiser, a show held to gather money to help poverty-level folks like homeless people, sex workers, veterans, and disabled individuals and their families have real housing and utilities covered, and get them off the streets. Khessa and her family were lauded as philanthropists and Khessa did most of the PR and public appearances, while Janai did most of the backstage work, checking up on people getting funds and ensuring landowners and other powerful people didn’t cause trouble.  
  
The Benachour sisters were also well-known for their involvement in the belly dance community, as they would supplant their talents, money, and facilities for belly dancers and other MENAT and Eastern dancers, funding and even participating in a few shows.  


So this year should go like any other year.It’s also Ethari’s first time participating as a dancer, since he’d always been a little shy about dancing in general.He first got involved in Sunfire fixing various things around the nightclub.  
Then Khessa and Janai discovered the full extent of his metalwork and costume making hobbies and paid him handsomely for his services.  
  
Somehow they used their collective skills against him---Janai her charisma and negotiation, Khessa her persistence and reasoning---and looped him into this year’s show, which just had to be a belly dancer theme for the performances this year.  
  
(“There is no way this is gonna backfire socially or culturally, girls. Not at all”, he had told them over tea, and Janai had stuck her tongue out at him as a retort while Khessa ordered their food.)  
  
But everything is going swimmingly.  
  
Well, until the day of the fundraiser night, right as night fell and while everyone is getting ready.Ethari is in the middle of eye makeup when one Amaya Urduja-Liu barges through the main dressing room backstage.  
  
Amaya is a security guard and occasional bouncer for The Breach, a themed tavern-pub adjacent to the Sunfire nightclub in the Katolis complexes across the street.  
Despite Amaya coming in to the nightclub with friends every once in a while, she is well-known for her beef with Janai over a deep-seated rivalry that stretched beyond their workplaces.  
  
She is also half-carrying, half-leading Janai into her dressing room.  
  
“Janai? Janai!"  
  
Kazi, a bartender recognized by their red-tipped dreads, immediately follows after them with a small pail, a bottle of something in the pail, and several hand towels.   
  
"Amaya is a friend of Janai's, not to worry, move please!", Kazi yells.   
  
Janai and Amaya are not friends. Not in the usual way, anyway.  
  
And Kazi almost never yells.   
  
Ethari, her oldest friend in this club, follows them, the sound of Ibis trying to calm everyone dying down as he closes the door behind him.   
  
Janai shoots her head up with a glare that immediately crumples when she sees him.   
  
"Ethari! It's Khessa", she sobs when he kneels before her. "She was in an accident; I heard from Lux Aurea General Hospital. They managed to pull her from the burning wreckage but...she's in critical condition. I---"  


Kazi pushes a napkin and a glass of water in her hand, and she takes both almost robotically.   
  
"---I'll run tonight's show", Ethari tells her, squeezing her hand comfortingly upon seeing her too deep in her shock to protest or speak. "Me, Ibis, Terry. Gren can head security, Nyx has the floor, Corvus has managed the bar by himself before, Kazi and Sabah know what to do---"   
  
"---Actually", Kazi interjects, "I'm going with Janai and Amaya, since I too work with Khessa and know ASL. I'll be Amaya's interpreter for the night. Sabah's worked here long enough, and the others have bartender experience."   
  
Ethari sighs with relief. "See, everything is set up for emergencies like this. I know the lineup, and you know I can dance. I’ve got this. _We’ve_ got this. Go to Khessa now; she needs you way more."   
  
Janai hugs him, tears against his scarf and his shoulder, and he reluctantly breaks away after a few heartbeats, beckoning to Amaya to help her. Amaya holds her in his place as leaves to straighten out the chaos backstage, Kazi quietly closing the dressing room door behind him.   
  
A flash of anxiety hits Ethari when he sees everyone looking at him. Confused, anxious, worried.   
  
But it passes as quickly as it came, and he swallows, tightening his core and drawing his shoulders back.    
  
Khessa and Janai need him.   
  
"Everyone listen up, and listen good. Khessa's been in an accident, and it's bad. Janai is the only family able to support her right this moment, so I am assuming Janai's commitments for tonight, including her parts for the performances.”  
  
He fiddles with a fold in his costume.  
  
“Janai's with Amaya---yes, that Amaya---and Kazi, so anyone with respective contact numbers or contact lines may speak to Amaya or Kazi LATER; best not to text or call now while they're distracted and trying to get to the hospital. Ibis is main point of contact and will be my co-manager for the show. Got it?"   
  
The panicking calms down to murmurs, and with shared nods and silent affirmation everyone throws themselves back into the fray of preparing for the night.   
  
_____________

  
"All y'all hyped to be in _Sunfire_ tonight, make some noise!"   
  
Ethari winces at the screaming outside.   
  
Perhaps he shouldn't have had Soren, aka MC Crownsguard, do the show.    
  
But people are having a good time outside, most likely thanks to Corvus and Barius, and their respective teams. Nyx was also most likely working her charm and playing up her London accent to everyone, and people always ate up European accents with big spoons. How many people might be surprised to hear a Scottish accent coming out of his mouth?  
  
This is Marcos' first night as the only bouncer at the door. He's solidly built, a lot like himself, Ethari muses, but he's also rather short. And young. Gren assures him Marcos is capable and that he'd help him. He hopes to be right.   
  
He missed dancing as he didn’t do so much of it anymore, and he missed Janai and performing with her, and their friends at Sunfire Nightclub. So here he is, eighteen weeks, nine rehearsals, and two run-throughs later.   
  
Without Janai.   
  
Or Khessa.   
  
Or directions.   
  
In the crowded main dressing room, with scraps of fabric and confetti on the floor, praying to God or whoever controlled all the good in the world, that the sweat doesn't melt his makeup.   
  
"Ethari!"   
  
It’s Ari, one of the main costumers of the Sunfire backstage, a whole mess of sparkly purple chiffon hanging over one shoulder.    
  
"You and the other dancers are on in fifteen. You need water? Something to settle your stomach?"   
  
He smiles and touches up the silvery-purple face paint decorating his cheeks and down his lip. "No, but thank you Ari. Im alright."   
  
"Cool, let me know. Also, here---"   
  
They dig around in their pockets and fish out something small. He opens his hand to receive it, and into his palm drops a jump drive.   
  
"So....an acquaintance of mine will be coming tonight to watch the show. I can feel my lupus---and my usual pains---acting up again, and in the very likely case that I won’t be able to move I need to get this jump drive to him. It's got files too large and sensitive to be sending over regular email---"   
  
"---So you're asking if I can get this to him? Of course. Do realize, of course, he'll have to wait until after my performance, right?"   
  
"I've already told him and he’s fine with it. Said he'd come in near the end of the show, so he'll get to see you dance."   
  
His stomach does a nervous little ripple. "That does not help."   
  
Ari gathers up what purple chiffon drags on the floor and turns to leave. "I'm getting you some seltzer for your stomach."   
  
"Wait, you said your lupus was acting up."   
  
"I’m sending someone to bring it to you. Maybe Crow Master or Jade, or somebody. Stay put, get yourself ready, there's lots of people, my contact will be at the bar, long dyed white hair and blue-green eyes, can’t miss him.”  
  
“Is he one of your cosplayer friends?”  
  
“NO...just someone in my company, bleached white hair like yours, just longer. Like, past his ass. Like I said, can’t miss him.I’ll order you that seltzer, be right back----”  
  
“---Ari!”  
  
No reply. How does someone as short as them get away so damn fast?  
  
He pilfers around for something to keep the jump drive in, and finds a little gartered legband with a zippered pocket.  
He’s managed to get the jump drive secured, and the legband around one thigh all Bond Girl, Secret Agent-like, when a commotion of worried murmurs and clustered dancers catch his attention.  
  
Soren is being carried in by Ibis and Gren and set belly-down on a small futon couch.  
  
“What the actual fuck is happening?”  
  
Soren sees him and cracks a smile.  
  
“Hey Bossman. So, funny story, I was doing a few tricks while being MC Crownsguard extraordinaire, you know, a few moves of my own, and I kinda didn’t take note of a few tangled wires from the sound system, and I basically slipped and fell right off the stage, and I fell on some poor girl in a cute red dragon costume or something, and she’s perfectly fine because I took the brunt of the fall and cushioned her with my big, strong muscles, and long story short I think I might’ve hurt my back a bitty-bit---BUT don’t worry, I’m NOT suing the nightclub!”  
  
For the love of everliving fuck.  
  
“Nothing that an athletic waist trainer or girdle and some Tiger Balm can’t fix!Get me some meds and some ice, and I’ll be up there running this fundraiser like a boss!”  
  
Claudia, Soren’s sister, pushes through the small people-cluster with a little box filled with what looks like jars and bottles of meds.  
  
“Clauds! Thank God. See, Claudia’s here, which means the show will go on! After we fix my back, of course.”  
  
After Claudia’s treatments, two jars of Tiger Balm, a whole tray of jelly tarts from Barius, half a bottle of ibuprofen, an improvised girdle to keep his spine in place, and a promise not to fucking move for the rest of the night unless needed, Soren is perched like a ragdoll on the largest speaker next to the DJ booth.  
  
“WE LIVED, BITCHES!”, he says to a relieved, howling crowd, holding up the fist of the red dragon costume girl in a victory pose.  
A glowing clock above the backstage lightboard reads 22:35 and 10:35pm. Sabah comes backstage from the bar, moonberry seltzer in hand.  
  
She finds Ethari, eyes closed and massaging his temples, on the futon couch in the dressing room.  


___________  
  
When Ethari comes back near the curtains, Terry shoots him a smile both relieved and admiring, having finished their pole dance routine to stall during the Soren fiasco.   
  
"Nice."   
  
Ethari adjusts the waistband of the sheer, billowy pants, careful to not crack the silvery-purple, swirly _mehndi_ pattern painted along his body.  
"Looks nice, feels less so. I feel a tad naked, actually. This material is gonna ride up my ass, or rip open onstage."   
  
"Awesome, then you’ll get all the money and this fundraiser is gonna shoot through the roof."   
  
Despite the scantiness of his costume, and the rolling in his stomach Ari's seltzer hasn't remedied, Ethari can't help one of his terrible jokes.   
  
"Nothing is shooting through the roof, or else Khessa will recover in record time to murder me."   
  
"Then we’ll have money for a lovely funeral. You will be sorely missed.”  
  
“Ha. You’re funny.”  
  
“Worry not, you and the others dancers are gonna be fantastic.”  
  
He pats one solid hand against his arm in encouragement.  
  
“Now go break all the legs.”  
  
“Soren’s back is already broken, and he’ll need his legs like everyone else. No leg breaking. Gonna shimmy for four minutes straight, then pass out.”  
  
“Do it. With your costume, knocking out and being carried away will look very elegant.”  
  
Terry laughs and gives him one more pat before leaving, and Soren begins to segue to introduce them as he and the rest of the dancers position themselves on stage.  
  
"Give it up for the main event, everyone! Our in-house, carefully-curated dancers with that old-school taught, new-school based razzle dazzle: Startouch Dance Company!!!"  
  
The lights shine purple and gold, and the crowd dies down.  
  
With both Khessa and Janai out of the picture, he's been moved up to the role of lead dancer, and all their parts now lie on him.   
His fellow dancers had practiced both solo and duo sections that were supposed to happen while Janai and Khessa did their dances, so their sections were now moved up to centerstage. The dancers look far more ready and excited than he felt, fluttering veils and fans during practice.  


He, thank God or whoever did all good on this universe, had the idea of an ornate silver dancing belt, heavy with tinkling chains and coins and tassels that would complement his original drum solo.   
  
He has someone behind left curtain holding it ready to tie onto his hips as he would remove the improvised crop top on his chest, all while the dancers shift positions during the bridge, then he'd return to center stage  
  
So, in theory and on hastily scribbled paper, this should work.  
  
Should.  
  
The stone in his stomach won't leave because the sheer amount of dance experience Khessa and Janai had far trumps his own. Is he really going to try and do a full drum solo in front of customers paying $50 tickets for tonight’s fundraiser?  
  
_“Take this from me: if you’re gonna do a sexy dance, imagine dancing for a partner.”_  
  
Khessa’s voice, unbidden, comes to him.She had told him this when they ran through rehearsals and he was composing his thirty-second solo.  
  
And that had been easy. Imagining his boyfriend Runaan, high cheekbones and a regal nose and lips framed by long, white hair that had taken him an hour just to saturate bleach into when they decided to get matching, moonlit locks.  
  
He imagined the ripple of lean muscles and his boyfriend’s sculpted body pressing against one of his tank tops, his turquoise-blue eyes wide with amazement if Ethari were to shimmy and roll his belly just right.  
  
How he’d grip a glass of liquor if he’d do a line of _taqsim_. How he’d swallow if he’d settled against his legs for a lap dance.  


Both Khessa and Janai had been pleased to see the advice worked.  
  
All he has to do now is replicate it.  
  
Low, smoky drums beneath the throbbing of the harmony kicks off the performance. The way the dance starts is that all the dancers line up behind one dancer, snaking their arms so it appears that the dancer in front has many arms.  
  
The music cues the breaking apart of the line, and he struts to his position in the front.  
  
Excellent. People are throughly enthralled, hollering as every dancer spins and snakes their bodies.  
Ethari and his fellow dancers all had costumes designed by Janai and Khessa, inspired by belly dancers of North African fame.  
  
Sheer pants with hip cutouts or full slits in the sides. Draping sleeves and little sashes secured at the shoulders and elbows. Coin-dappled bra tops, or a piece of velvet held up by two knots in his case, on top of loads of shiny, ornate jewelry, pale lavender face veils, and metallic shapes painted into everyones’ skin.  
  
He proudly shows off the silvery swirls he painstakingly painted onto his dark brown skin, an echo of his signature swirlies carved into all of his metalwork.  
  
He should probably snap a picture when he has some alone time, send it to Runaan. He considers a nude on top of that when the ballet bar drops from the ceiling, cueing one oftheir more burlesque, raunchy parts.  
  
A perk of Sunfire’s mainstage, a ballet bar suspended by poles can be lowered from the ceiling if any of the smaller studios where dancers compose and practice are occupied.  
The second verse in the song takes away the ballet bar and leaves him to lower himself to the floor and body roll, while some of the dancers have their solos and duos.As it melts to the chorus, chairs lift from below on the hydraulic platforms.He catcrawls to his chair, further down and centerstage.  
  
The hollering rises to an appreciative screaming as he twists himself and lifts his legs into a handstand, before folding over and ending up in the chair with a toss of his hair.  
  
Ethari allows himself a smug smile.He still got it. And if Runaan saw it he’d be quite impressed.  
  
The dancers do their chair routine, high legs and kicks and spread eagles, and as the chairs are spirited away he kicks off, dancing his way to left curtain as the other dancers twirl and move their hips in a sort of clump.  
  
“Ethari, here”, the casual tenor of Ibis whispers, and he’s furiously working to untie and divest his improvised crop top as Ibis ties the silver belt around his hips.  
  
A quick tug on each side to secure it.  
  
“Alright, go go go!”  
  
He barely makes it back to centerstage, taking the dropped veil from one dancer and floating it over his head.  
  
Khessa’s advice returns to him, and its almost laughably easy to imagine Runaan, all lean shapes and ruddy midtoned skin and startling beauty, lurking in the dark and watching every bit of his own dark skin glow and move under the purple stagelight.  
  
_Dance as though you were dancing for a lover_.  
  
He moves his hips in a figure-eight, right into a hip circle that angles his body so his bottom now faces the audience, imagining the ripple his fuller bottom would make as he twists his hips from side to side.  
The silver chains and tassels on his belt catch the movement as he leans back, allowing the full range of his abdomen to be seen as he alternates his body rolls between going up and going down.  
A slow half turn to repeat some of the movements on his other side, running his hands up his naked back as he does so.  
  
As the bridge of the song comes back to the chorus he thinks of Runaan, white-knuckled and barely restraining a hard-on. Knowing how his boyfriend appreciated both visual and tactile teasing, he runs one hand from his hair down his neck, over his full chest and belly, catching on the waistband of his pants and hooking it down slightly before letting it go.  
The crowd’s tantalized cheering and yelling reaches to deafening as his hand passes over his unfortunately raging, stiff hardness before curving around to smack his bottom.  
  
Ha. Runaan would’ve jumped him by now. These people would never know what they were missing.  
  
The chorus repeats twice as money flies onto the stage, and Ethari’s nerves are gone as he enjoys the music and does a few veil tricks before handing it off to a dancer.  
As they all gather for the final pose, he suddenly lowers himself into a drop, and the ending cymbals of the music disappear under the booming, raucous applause of the audience.  
  
“STARTOUCH DANCE COMPANY, EVERYONE!”  
  
Ethari smiles, his panting dissipating as he lifts himself from the floor and matches the goddess arms pose of the other dancers.  
  
Looks like Khessa was right. Envisioning a lover in mind and dancing for them worked, and though he isn’t entirely sure exactly how Runaan might react to watching him gyrate and undulate, it’s absolutely helped.  
  
Sabah and Jade are hooting and cheering his name at the bar, and his grin widens. Lowering his arms from goddess position and getting up with the help of his dancers, he waves merrily to them.  
He skates his gaze over the patrons at the bar, intending to take in the individual expressions of amazement when he stops and backtracks.  
  
Well.He didn’t have to imagine his boyfriend’s reaction anymore.  


Because there Runaan is.  
  
Unmistakeable long, white hair that took him an hour just to saturate with bleach when they both decided to match with pretty, moonlit locks.  
  
Turquoise eyes he’d recognize anywhere are wide, wide open, a glass of some brown liquor raised to his mouth.He knows he’s definitely locked gazes with him when the glass is slowly lowered.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
Holy fuck.  
  
_**WHAT THE FUCK.**_  
  
Wonderful.  
  
Absolutely fucking smashing.  
  
As if this night could not get any more convoluted.  
  
“Thank you so much, everyone!!!!”, Soren’s voice rips through his trance.There’s still cheering people, Nyx and Terry going through the entertained crowd and gathering tips going to the fundraiser, the lights have changed to a cool green color.  
  
He chances a look back at the bar.  
  
Runaan. Unbelievably, unmistakably Runaan.  
  
“Ethari, c’mon.” One of the dancers gently takes him by the shoulder as the dancers make their way off the stage.  
  
Behind the curtain there’s relieved sighs and laughter and hugs, and he barely has half a mind to congratulate all the performers backstage with the minimal ‘good job, love’ and a hug.  
  
Ibis spots him and gives him a celebratory pat to the back, but his good spirits falter upon finding Ethari looking dazed.  
  
“Oi! Ethari! You there?”  


Ethari snaps out of it more quickly than he’d like, finding light green, worried eyes as he responds.  
  
“I’m fine, Ibis.Actually, um----I need---I need to find Ari.”  
  
In the direction of the costume closet he runs, every bad feeling welling up into his anxiety-addled brain.  


___________________

  
"Ari!"   
  
Ethari feels his heart hammering away in his throat. In his head. Everything is suddenly threatening to overflow and bleed into each other, but the glowing blue lights of Ari's walking cane lead him to the costume closet.  
  
A stained paper bowl, a half-full glass, and a bottle of ibuprofen betray Ari’s pain flareups as they manage to crack a smile.  
  
"Tinker?"   
  
He allows himself a dull groan at Ari's silly-but-true nickname from shows past. "Is that my codename now?"   
  
"Yes, and mine is General Leia Organa."   
  
In any other situation he'd find that humourous, but Runaan's shocked expression echoes in his head and he grits his teeth.   
  
"So hey, quick question: Is our contact fucking Legolas in the Blackwatch kilt, sitting at the bar and getting ogled by Sabah and her crew?"   
  
A surprised chuckle is cut off by a pained wince, but the smile is still there.  
  
"Legolas, lol, but yeah, no, that's our guy. Why?"   
  
Ethari takes the deepest breath he's ever taken right through his nose, as he unties his silver belt and throws on the table with a heavy clunk.  
  
"Because our guy, 'General', is my fucking BOYFRIEND."   
  
A roar of applause and screams of 'WE LOVE YOU NYX" conceal his confession. And Ari's shocked gasp.   
  
And their yelling into cupped hands.   
  
When Ari finishes and drops their hands to lay one on his shoulder, a calm poker face betrays none of the emotion probably playing ping-pong on his own face.   
  
"First: good for you."   
  
"NO. Fucking---"   
  
"---Second: he's also our contact. You think he's recognized you, even with the makeup and costume?"   
  
"Yes, unfortunately."   
  
"Shit. Well...look on the bright side, you've got as much dirt on him as he does on you."   
  
"What the hell does that even mean?"   
  
"All I'm saying is I have proof he's an assassin--"   
  
"----I'm sorry, an _assassin_?!"   
  
"Not so loud!"   
  
"For fuck’s sake, no one will hear that, the screaming outside's gotten louder. Nyx is probably pulling off her 'Wrecking Ball" shit---"   
  
"---good. Please tell me you still have the drive---”  
  
“----I’m not handing it off to assassin who you just so happen to know. What the entire fuck, Ari?! What the fuck is in this, anyway?”  
  
They give him a odd look. “Give it to him and find out.”  
  
“Who’s to say I’m not gonna fucking die?”  
  
“I thought you were his boyfriend!”  
  
“I thought he was just a security guard from Edinburgh!”  
  
“He’s not going to kill you, he’d have to be assigned to---fuck---”  
  
A flare of pain in their lower back cuts them off, and after it dies down Ari groans.  
  
“---Look, he won’t kill you because he’s not assigned to, they’d have to be, there’s severe punishment for extrajudicial killings for the UK team. And you haven’t done anything wrong in your life to warrant an assassination. Plus, this is just a reconnaissance mission. His team is situated outside the club, and he’s just here for information.”  
  
Ethari sighs, taking several deep breaths. Fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he turns back to Ari.  
  
“Who are they? Who do they work for? At least give me that.”  
  
This night just keeps getting better and better.  
  
“I’m not at privy to give all information, but I can say that we’re all part of a worldwide system of anti-terrorist groups. Like vigilantes, but way less likely to throw innocent people under the bus, threaten to blow up shit, nothing like that.  
I, of course, am a member of the Jewish division, American branch. Our actual name and history, you don’t get to know unless you want to be recruited by, say, the Hindi team, US branch.”  
  
They look towards the noise. “‘Legolas’ is leader of the Celtic division, United Kingdom branch. I can say that they ask for help from M16 sometimes, but are not affiliated with them. There’s a Celtic division here as well, American, Canadian, Mexican branches. You’re Scottish, you can totally make it as an agent, come to think of it.”  
  
He is halfway to the door. “Nope, don’t want to be involved in this Mission: Impossible shit, just want to drop off this drive to my boyfriend, the fucking assassin, take off everything and change, and go home to my life and my family which turned out to be an utter lie.”  
  
“As good a time as any to find out if his feelings are true or not.”  
  
He turns to look at them, and Ari’s face is completely devoid of humour.  
  
“If it’s all a lie, then he’s a complete asshole and will be reprimanded accordingly for the involvement of a civilian, and manslaughter if anything happens to you. If it isn’t...it may very well keep you safe, keep you alive.”  
  
The drive is small but weights heavily in the little legband around his thigh.  
  
“You don’t have to.I’m sorry I even suggested it to you.I can contact him now, tell him to wait until my pain flares die down, I’ll get it to him---”  
  
“---No.”  
  
Ethari wipes his hands on his pants and turns the handle. There’s a feeling, boiling and hot in his body he wasn’t able to put a name to until now.  
  
“ _Fucker_. I’ll get the damn thing to him if he gives me some fucking answers.”  
  
Humiliation. At being lied to, at being led along, being nothing but a bedwarmer for a real-life James Bond, just another pretty face and a body, just another toy to play with until a higher duty called him out of his life forever.  
  
“No. No ifs. I WILL get some fucking answers.”  
  
Ari’s face is the last thing he sees before the door slams shut.  
  
Like stone, mouth set in a hard line and eyes wide with fear.  
  
_______________  
  
  
"Hi there."   
  
Runaan turns to glare at him, and immediately softens when he sees Ethari take the empty seat next to him.   
  
"Jade, a ginger beer please. The non-alc one. With a cherry---if it's not too much trouble, of course!"   
  
"Put it on my tab, please."   
  
He calls out to the bartender before returning his gaze to the dancer before him, and Ethari manages to catch Jade's gleeful expression in the now-pink stage lights.   
  
"A ginger beer? You've earned yourself a proper drink with that performance."   
  
"I...like to hydrate first after a performance."   
  
Ethari swallows nervously. The contact is his boyfriend. His boyfriend! And his boyfriend’s a fucking assassin! No wonder he was all clandestine about his employment aside from 'I'm a security guard'.  
  
He had been angry, raging his way through bodies and the shadows of the club, but upon seeing him at the darkest corner of the bar, face stoic but posture tense, the boiling in his blood gave way to the stomach-dropping of fear, twice as bad as the pre-performance jitters.  
  
"Start off slow? Understood. Still, a toast to you and your fellow dancers..."   
  
He raises the glass in his hand to Ethari, and Ethari could smell the smoke, the strength of the amber liquor.  
  
A familiar scent in unfamiliar territory.He breathes deeply.  
  
Runaan is just another person that needs him tonight.  
  
"Whisky? It smells like scotch. Smoke, earth, sometimes water, like lakes or sea. Why does it smell salty, like Skye scotch?"   
  
Runaan raises an eyebrow. " _Ardbeg_ comes from Islay, so seawater influencing the taste makes sense, but that's still an impressive guess."   
  
Another deep swig, though his eyes stay on Ethari, half-lidded and deep with...something.   
  
"And yes, I do like liquor that reminds me of where I grew up. I only ever ‘drink brown’, as the bartenders here have termed it."He gives a quick glance to the bartenders, and Sabah catches it, winking in his direction.  
  
"I'm from Glasgow, so that's pretty much all the scotch. You only drink brown? Then my prospects are looking excellent tonight", he jokes weakly, holding up his hand as if to inspect his own dark brown skin in the club's dancing lights.   
  
But he doesn't miss how turquoise eyes roam his face, his body, drinking him in like the almost-empty glass of scotch resting on the bar counter.  
  
He has never felt more naked in his life and the lack of a top isn’t helping.  
  
“I...actually have something for you. Well, something of interest to you.”  
  
A tiny brush of coldness indicates Jade plunking down his ginger beer, and when he takes it to drain half of it down his parched throat, she gives him a knowing look.  
  
And, on turning away, a smirk.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
Ethari swallows, gripping his glass too tightly for comfort.  
  
“Perhaps we should go somewhere more private.”  
  
Runaan finishes his scotch, and Sabah is quick to take away his glass.  
  
“Would you like another drink, Sir? Or would you like to close out?”  
  
“I’ll return for my card”, he replies, his eyes not leaving Ethari. Giving a cursory pat onto the counter, he gets up from his seat and holds his hand out.  
  
“Shall we?”  
  
Gone is the last of his ginger beer, and he barely ignores Sabah’s excited glances as hereaches for Runaan’s hand.  
  
Then retracts it.  
  
In this moment, Runaan isn’t his boyfriend. Just another person that needs him.  
  
“Follow me.”  
  
Even without a response from him, Ethari knows he’s following behind.  
  
Another deep breath.  
  
As far as anyone else watching is concerned, this is business that isn’t theirs. Just a mere transaction they don’t have the right or money for.The flex of the garter band around his thigh is a reminder of how naive he is.  
  
Was.  
  
Through the people now gathering closer to the stage as part of it clears away to a dancefloor, he leads Runaan from the rainbow lights of the club to the swanky private rooms. He debates passing by the costume closet, but shakes his head.  
The dressing room with his things in it is one usually allotted for guest performers, small but sizeable, enough for a small bathroom with a sink, a loveseat, a small drawer near it, a dresser and bar stool.  
  
He’s left it unlocked but closed under the pretense that no one else would be in it, but he gives it a few courtesy knocks anyway. With no one apparently in it, he opens the door and turns on the brightness to 20%.  
  
Good.Nothing has been disturbed. Nothing seems to be missing from his small pile of bags near the dresser.  
  
“May I come in?”  
  
The sultry voice right up against his ear causes him to jerk, and he spins around, whipping his arm right against Runaan’s chest.  
  
“Asshole! Don’t creep up on me like that!”  
  
Runaan, unfazed, merely blinks and waits for him.  
  
“Sorry. Yes, come in.”  
  
The door closes and the lock clicks shut as he runs his hand with the lightest of touches along Ethari’s bare waist.  
  
Without a single wrinkle to his blazer or kilt he settles into the plush loveseat.  
  
Damn elegant bastard.  
  
A deep breath to calm the pleasurable shiver that just rippled along his nerves. A deep breath to calm everything in his entire fucking body.  
  
He faces him.   
  
"I have what you need."   
  
Runaan begins to loosen his tie, saying nothing, being patient.   
  
The jump drive.   
  
He reaches down to the garter belt strapped beneath his billowy pants, fishing out the tiny jump drive from the zippered pocket hidden inside and holding it out.   
  
"Come closer, I don’t bite."   
  
"You could still very much hurt me."   
  
Ruddy fingers cease their unbuttoning. "Love---"   
  
"---Who are you really, Runaan?”  
  
And out the nearest window jumps every ounce of tension he’d been holding in.  
  
“What's in this jump drive and why did Ari give it to me? You said you were a security guard back in Edinburgh; how much of that is true? What would happen if this drive was found on me by someone else? Who else knows about this? Does Janai, or Khessa?"   
  
He sits in the loveseat, face stoic but his eyes wide and calculating. He reaches into his blazer, but Ethari is quick to drop the jump drive and hover the sole of his heel over it.   
  
"Don't you dare."   
  
"You are not in the position to make demands, Runaan! If that's even your actual name!"   
  
"It---"   
  
"---Blazer, off. Now."   
  
Runaan gives him a hard stare but says nothing else as he unbuttons his blazer and throws it in his direction. Ethari catches it and, careful to pick up the jump drive from the floor, puts it back into his garter then fishes through the silky interior of the blazer.   
  
"There's a small device in there that looks like a flask. It’s actually storage for the files in that drive. Press down on the neck of the flask for five seconds, and the device will open. You'll see a port to plug the drive into. The data transfer will take about an hour."   
  
"What's the data consist of?"   
  
"That is none of your---"   
  
"---WHAT'S IN IT?!"   
  
Ethari feels his patience running thin, and he practically charges at Runaan, and the bodyguard is too surprised to try and hold him off as one gilded hand pushes him back into the loveseat.   
  
"I have no fucking reason to be civil anymore. Tell me now, or I'll have security in here in less than ten seconds to drag you out, kilt and all. I do not take well to any potential threats towards the employees or patrons of this establishment, and definitely not towards my friends, and i definitely don't want to be involved in any CIA, Secret Service, M16 shit of the sort.  
I don’t want anyone here to be involved, and I am not about to die because you liked me a little too much and decided to bring me into your mess."   
  
"You are not in danger. Not from me or the others."   
  
"Oh? I’m pretty sure there's a gun and maybe a few knives on your person. I'm Glaswegian, in case you've forgotten; I know, I carry _sgian-dubh_. If you're not the threat, who is? Is there even a threat?"   
  
"Terrorists."   
  
A word used to describe some of Ethari's own people. In Runaan's serious tone, the word drops his heart straight into his stomach.  
  
“Terrorists that discovered Khessa and her entire family are the ones responsible for dismantling their trafficking and smuggling ring, and thwarting their plans to destroy a mosque within lower Xadia, and taking the equivalent of 10 million pounds right out of their hands.  
Terrorists that tracked her near the Sunforge Tower and decided to ‘send a message.‘“  
  
Runaan loosens the rest of his tie.   
"And it isn’t just Khessa. Anyone powerful, anyone associated with her. Janai. Their brother Ori, who is very much in danger even in Morocco. The Katolis family and their trusted advisors, who I think your cooks are associated with. Regina Draconis, of course. Her son, Avizandum, who’s being guarded by Rayla--”  
  
“---Wait, Rayla? Our Rayla?”  
  
“Our Rayla?”  
  
“Your Rayla, who’s technically ours since we’re technically together. Your niece Rayla! Your niece, who you’ve put in the way of danger, what is wrong with you---?!”  
  
Ethari doesn’t realize he’s swatting at him until Runaan restrains him by his wrists, his face stern but his turquoise eyes full of worry.   
  
"Ethari, you and your loved ones could be in danger. Anyone that sets foot in this establishment could be in danger.”  
  
“Who’s fault is that?!”  
  
“Theirs, Ethari. It has been theirs from the start, and we are here to stop them. That data file contains information we need to not only hunt these terrorists down, but to weed them out and eliminate them from Xadia.   
Everything from their safe houses to addresses to bank accounts to maps and even dark web browsing history.”  
  
He could overpower Runaan right now if he wanted to. But even if he succeeded...what? Then what?  
  
“Where they get their weapons. What specific places of worship they'd target. The people they’ll hunt down. Their recruitment methods. Everything.  
  
“Give me the drive and the phone you'll find in the right-side inside pocket. I'll show you. If you choose."   
  
Ethari freezes. What to do? It's a phone and a drive, and he did not ask for his blazer back.   
  
He's certain there are other ways for Runaan to kill him, even with the strength to carry him, and he doesn’t want to die for knowing information he isn't supposed to.  
  
But there’s no easy way out of this mess, and he walks right in between Runaan’s open legs, knees against the plush of the loveseat.  
  
"What about me?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"What about me? Was I just a pawn in this game? Was I a way to get what you needed? Just a fling to keep you entertained and to warm your bed until your mission was complete? Is what we had a lie?"   
  
Runaan doesn't bother to hide his emotions anymore. He lays a hand to his elbow but Ethari pushes it away.   
  
"No...no! Ethari, love, no. You were...you were not some toy for me to play with and pass the time with.  
You and I were friends long before this, we have history, and I didn’t expect to love you and I didn’t expect you to return my affection, but you have, and I am happy, I am ever so grateful.  
Please, Ethari, please understand. I did not keep my employment from you to hurt you, I did it for your protection."   
  
Ethari can barely see his face through the tears flooding his sight and rolling down his cheeks, and he is too distraught to say anything.  
  
"Ethari, please, say something."   
  
He closes his eyes. What to do?   
  
Then it comes to him.   
  
He reaches back into the pockets of his blazer until he finds the device, follows the instructions to open it, and retrieves the jump drive, plugging in it and dropping it on the side drawer.  
  
He swallows and wipe the tears away with his palm.  
  
“There. You have your information, you have your drive. As far as we’re concerned, I’m just a person transferring vital data from point A to point B. You may know me, but I don’t know you, for safety reasons. This is just business. A mission. Nothing more.”  
  
He steps back as Runaan keeps wide, upset eyes on him.  
  
“I care for Janai and Khessa, but I also don’t want to die. But that isn’t going to stop you, right? Since I now know too much. All I can ask is that it be quick, since I know it won’t be painless---”  
  
“---I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to hurt you. Ethari, please---”  
  
“---That’s a lie, just like everything we had was a lie, I’m not stupid enough to think you won’t hurt me, you’re an assassin, all those years....and I just so happened to be your friend, and you feigned a relationship with me so that I’d be vulnerable to you, so it’d be easier to take me down when the time came to do it---”  
  
“---Ethari, let me speak---”  
  
“---just leave my body in here, please, don’t take me out to the dumpster, and for fuck’s sake don’t try to burn this place down to get rid of the evidence, please leave my family and friends a body to bury---”  
  
“---you are not in danger from me---”  
  
“--- _PROVE IT!!!_ ”  
  
He’s yelling, not caring anymore, and Runaan looks away, trying to conceal what few tears have come forth.  
  
“Prove you won’t kill me. Who’s to say there aren’t others out there to make sure I say nothing even if I lock you in here? What do you want from me? Because I don’t make enough money to pay you to spare my life, and you know that.”  
  
“Give me my phone”, Runaan says, voice still deathly calm.  
  
Ethari finds it in his discarded blazer and throws it to him, and Runaan begins to look up something on it.  
  
“Do you remember our conversation about two weeks ago, when we had just dropped Rayla off to her parents? About me finding you work when you told me you could be laid off?”  
  
He opens up something on his phone and turns the volume up.  
  
_“.....a weaponsmith?”  
  
“Yes, an engineer. Top of his class at the University of Edinburgh, School of Engineering. Created a prototype archery bow that separates into two useable swords, with the edges protected by collapsible shields that contract into the hilt of the ‘swords‘ when jointed.”  
  
_He can recognize Runaan’s voice anywhere. _  
  
“And the bowstring?”  
  
“Synthetic spider’s silk of sorts, spun by genetically engineered silkworms. Tech that must be approved by the University of Wyoming in the States as they have exclusive rights to the genetic sequences for the silkworms.”  
  
“Dragline spider’s silk is state-of-the-art stuff; how did this nobody from Glasgow get his hands on it?”  
  
_His only reaction to this callous statement is a raised eyebrow and a hard stare at his phone. _  
  
“Year-long internship at that specific university. He’s the only non-US student to have access to that kind of technology. And the top of his class. Quite impressive for a ‘nobody from Glasgow’.”  
  
“How?”  
  
_One corner of Runaan’s mouth quirks up, a minute crack in his ‘business face.’ _  
  
“He’s just that good, according to his record.”  
  
“We’ll see for ourselves. Are there any other examples of his work?”  
  
“He favors melee weaponry as opposed to firearms, but there are few rudimentary prototypes of small pistols and hidden guns made from fiberglass and ceramic, those same materials are found in some of the bladed weapons...there’s even a small disk that, when crushed, interferes with security cameras by manipulating light to show different images.He’s fashioned the disk into a bracelet, it seems---yes, a bracelet, to hide the disk in plain sight.”  
  
“That is dangerous yet astounding. Any idea whether terrorist organizations know of him?”  
  
“No, and joining their cause isn’t a possibility for him.He’s a fairly vocal critic of dictatorships and totalitarian governments, as seen from both essays in university classes and posts on social media. Also a very vocal critic of Toryism, citing a personal stake in, and I quote, ‘the treatment of people of color, Hindus, LGBTQ people, immigrants and refugees, the disabled, and the poor.’ So most of our agents.”  
  
“A man of the people. How admirable. Recruitment plan?”  
  
“He currently maintains a workshop of sorts in a shared workspace on the very end of Moonberry Blvd., the only street that stretches from Silvergrove area straight into downtown Xadia. At the intersection between Moonberry and Sunforge Rd., across from the Blackbird Post Office.”  
  
“You intend to just go into his workspace?”  
  
“This shared workspace has locked rooms for privacy, as well as sound-isolated rooms specifically for anyone using noisy equipment, like Chanda-Grant. On the workspace’s website, right here: Chanda-Grant, Ethari; Heartbloom Forge; Room 003.”_  
  
“When was this?”, Ethari asks, core tight, but having allowed his shoulders and breathing to relax.  
  
Runaan pauses the recording. “A week ago. When I learned about the strong possibility of you being unemployed, I knew I had to help you secure you some sort of fallback plan. So I did. There is always a place for engineers and weapon smiths in this agency, and you are both intelligent and easy to work with.”  
  
“When....were you going to tell me? About that? About....this, all of this?”  
  
He dares himself to again come closer to Runaan.  
  
“Did you ever intend to tell me?”  
  
He sighs, a tired, rumbling sound. The phone plunks on the side table.  
  
“For recruitment as an engineer, that would’ve been dependent on the final decision of your employers. For this...yes. Eventually. When Rayla would prove herself capable of a solo mission assigned by the agency, I would’ve told you then, as she would be able to live on her own, in the case that....”  
  
When he breaks off and doesn’t continue, Ethari plants his arms, one on each side of Runaan, and holds himself at eye level.  
  
“In the case that ‘what’?”  
  
“...In the very likely situation that you would be angry with me, and want nothing to do with me. Then we could separate peacefully, and Rayla, although she’d be upset, would be old enough to understand. Better yet, by then she’d have a place of her own and be able to sustain herself.”  
  
The nightclub is in full swing outside the room, but inside the dressing room is a completely different, separate space, and Ethari runs through an entire list of emotions in the time it takes for Runaan to gaze back at him with those deep turquoise eyes and to gently ghost one hand alongside his cheek.  
  
“Know this: through all the years I’ve known you, before and after becoming an assassin and agent, before Rayla, when it was just Tiadrin, Lain, you, and I, I loved you. And I love you now. And I will love you no matter what happens after tonight. Because I love you, I will respect your decisions, and I will not harm you in any way. Even if it was asked of me. All of this I swear.”  
  
This close to Runaan, he can smell the _Ardbeg_ scotch on his breath, coupled with the bergamot and cedarwood of his perfume at home, and with most of his anger dissipated he can feel the heat coming off of him.  
  
What to do, what to do. If he’s telling the truth, then he keeps his relationship and has a well-paying job to fall back on.  
  
But if he’s lying, he’ll at least get something out of this. One last hurrah, and it’ll be on his terms.  
  
Dying is going to suck.  
  
Keeping his waist bent and eyes on him, he places his hands on his chest and slides them up. Runaan, at first surprised, leans towards him and takes both his hands to caress Ethari’s face.  
  
Unaware of his tie sliding away until Ethari grabs both of his wrists, binds them together, and ties him up to a light fixture cemented into the wall.  
  
"I still don't trust you. Not completely."   
  
"Ethari?"   
  
"I don’t know what to make of this. Any of this. I’m still thinking about it all. I don't want unnecessary trouble, and I definitely don't want family and loved ones in danger, and I am still furious that you and your friends could’ve but didn’t keep Khessa from nearly dying, but---”  
  
He secures the knot in the binding.  
  
“---I love you. I have loved you through a lot. I still love you now. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but....I forgive you. For hiding things from me. I’m still mad, just making that clear, but I get it. It’s why James Bond isn’t married, right? His life isn’t exactly a safe or secure one, and no woman in her right mind wants to be part of that danger. I understand why you hid it from me.”  
  
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I am so sorry that I did. How do I….how do I make amends? Tell me what you need from me.”  
  
A handful of salt-white hair twists in Ethari’s hand, and he pulls hard enough that Runaan’s head jerks up, half-lidded amber-gold eyes burning into shocked turquoise.  
  
“But you did. You lied to me and your little mission may very well have endangered Khessa and Janai, my friends, all of us in this club.  
And make amends? How?! I don’t know if I can fully trust Ari, or your fellow agents or whatever, or you.  
  
"If I should trust you”, he murmurs against Runaan’s slightly parted, panting lips.  
  
And suddenly he’s kissing his boyfriend.  
  
This stranger.  
  
Runaan.   
  
“But I do.”  
  
He releases his hair, and Runaan continues kissing him, down his jawline, down his neck.   
  
"God, I love you.”  
  
Down his jawline.  
  
“I love you so much.”  
  
Down his neck.  
  
“You have no idea. I can tell you now. How often I’ve thought of you, how many days I’ve been able to endure because I’ve imagined your voice, your smile, your embrace, the way you look when you're sleeping, the glow in your eyes whenever we have breakfast together..."   
  
"The necklace."   
  
The mouth caressing his shoulder stops. "The one I wear? You made it for me, remember? When we first started dating, and once I had to go to Spain? Thats when you gave it to me. I wear it every day I’m separated from you."   
  
"I love you also." He caresses Runaan's lower lip with his thumb and traces it down his chin. His hands cup around his face, pulling him into another kiss, deepening it as he runs his hands down his chest.   
  
"Why---why have you never told me about the dancing, love?"  
  
“You’re the jealous type.”  
  
He plants a kiss to Ethari's jawline and it warms him. "Never enough to keep you from spending time with your friends."   
  
Ethari begins unbuttoning Runaan's collared shirt, black cotton parting to an expanse of ruddy, olive-toned skin.   
  
And the lotus necklace he claimed to wear every time they were apart.   
  
He presses his fingertips to it.   
  
"Like I've told you, love. You're always with me somehow."  
  
He grabs Runaan by his hair and kisses him again, swallowing down his resulting moan before speaking again.  
  
"I didn't think---I didn't----my thought process was that you wouldn’t have liked me dancing like I did tonight, dressed like I am, in front of people---”  
  
“---Perhaps not in front of completely drunken, knackered idiots and perverts making disrespectful gestures at the performers, or talking about what they’d do with your body if they’d bent you over. All those disgusting eyes on you, all the horrible thoughts percolating in their little brains; absolutely not.”  
  
“Mmmm, love your voice, especially when you use smart words.”  
  
“You’ll hear a lot of it in the near future. And there will be one, I promise you. One where you won’t have to dance for lascivious drunks or rich men trying to buy a night with you.”  
  
Bound up by his wrists, all he can do is plant kisses to umber skin as Ethari lifts his arms and begins to move his hips in a figure 8.  
  
“Dancing? You mean like this?”  
  
Runaan groans before searing a kiss into his solar plexus, and reason floats farther and farther away from his mind.  
  
“My dancing is rusty, though.I didn’t do a lot of it until I graduated from Edinburgh and moved out of my family’s place in Glasgow. In-in India, in most parts of India and South Asia, dancers---belly dancers, as we're called in the west---dancing is not respected.  
  
“I remember a trip to Jammu and Kashmir to visit family when I was little, and we were at a market, and a street band was playing music, and my three girl cousins and I started dancing along, because, well, we were children.  
All of a sudden, two men came at us with sticks in their hands, and I saw and tried to defend them from my cousins, and they both turned on me, managed to get maybe three hits before my uncles pulled them off. There was lots of yelling, both in Hindi and English, and that was the first time I....was called a faggot."   
  
He looks up from Runaan's gentle peck to his cheek, and though his face is soft, anger burns in his eyes.   
  
But everything else silently encourages, especially his continued kisses.   
  
“I learned, that day, about the various prejudices and dangers that dancers and gay people in India faced, all while I was crying and my uncle patched me up. Homosexuality is criminalized in in India, and dancing was associated with prostitution, concubinage; all things sexual. Oh my God, am I rambling?”  
  
Ethari takes a deep breath.  
  
“Even---sorry for that---even if you just dance for family, or hell, even if you dance Indian dances like Kathak or Odissi, conservative families would always think you're the wild, promiscuous one. My family isn’t like that, but when I was a lad, I was warned that dancing and liking boys were things that could endanger me.  
  
And if you do dance professionally or even for a public crowd, like I did just a while ago, you might as well have told your family you were off being a stripper. Which i have no issue with, but you can imagine the general stigma towards sex workers.  
It's considered a disgrace to be in love with, even marry, a dancer, even amongst non-religious Indians."   
  
He feels Runaan lay a tender kiss to where his heart beat, and he embraces him, holding his head there.   
  
"I've known of people disowned from their families for dancing. My mother and my aunts and uncles on her side love dancing and music even though they don't all dance, but not everyone is my family. And my cousins, we’re all Scoto-Indians, especially me, with a Scottish father.  
But I was a coward, even with my family, so I hid my love of dance for a long time, tried to hide from the world, since i wasn’t good at pretending to be something I wasn’t."   
  
He suddenly remembers his lover's head against his chest and releases him.  
  
"Shit, I’m sorry, love! That was a lot, and I didn’t mean to hold you captive like that, just---sorry. I’m sorry. I was just letting it out, you don't---forget about it, its nothing---"   
  
"---Untie me."   
  
What?   
  
His memories dissolve into their current situation, and he is reminded that this is not their shared apartment with the _kalamkari_ tapestries and the plethora of mugs and teacups and occasionally Rayla sleeping in the 'guest room'.   
  
"Love, untie me, please."   
  
"But why---"   
  
"---You're crying."   
  
Is he? When he touches a knuckle to his eye, the telltale wetness runs down his face as Runaan pulls at his binding.   
  
"You---I know you can just work your way out of that. You don't need me to untie you."   
  
"Let me comfort you. I won't touch you unless you ask for it. I want for you to let me free, let me---please love, let me."   
  
This time the caution is thrown to the side like the tie that kept him in place. Runaan immediately pulls him down into his lap, thumbing away incoming tears that have gathered along lashes black with mascara.   
  
"I’m not crying", Ethari mumbles, voice small. He starts feeling odd in his costume, as though he were eight and he had been practicing moves with his cousins, like he did in a too-large wooden chair, holding a frozen bag of veggies to his head while his uncles explained to him why he’d been beaten by two strangers.   
  
And not a full grown adult, far from Scotland and very far from India, independent and content and currently half-naked in the lap of a beautiful man who would kill for him.   
  
"I’m fine."   
  
"Physically, yes. But....oh, love, you didn't deserve that. That was beyond foul. How despicable. You should only ever be filled with confidence, with love, and not with shame, not with the memory of other people that look down on you for being a wonder. Are there any serviettes in this room?”  
  
“In the drawer.” Ethari points to the little side-table near the loveseat, and Runaan’s arms are blessedly long enough to reach in and find a box of tissues, and he takes a few to wipe his tears away and clear his nose.  
  
His voice is still small, but any scrap of shame is replaced by happiness.   
  
"You really liked it, then? My dancing? I'm still a tad rusty..."   
  
"Yes, love. Everyone adored you up there. You are truly something else."   
  
Runaan buries his face into his neck.   
  
"Oh, darling, why---I'm sweaty! I’ve been dancing, I’ve been nervous---don’t I smell?"   
  
"You smell lovely", he groans, his accent and arousal deepening his voice. "Warm and somewhat spicy, almost like the spice blend at home. The one in the green tin. Sweat and heat....you smell like sex."   
  
Ethari can't help the moan that escapes him, and upon hearing it, Runaan manages to hold him closer, as though they weren't already skin to skin. His hand slips into Ethari's leggings, between his legs, wrapping around his fat cock and circling his thumb around the slit.   
  
Silver-tipped fingernails sink into the immaculate sleeves of Runaan's collared shirt as the dancer whimpers his pleasure.   
  
"Moonlight, you're---I’m gonna ruin your clothes, take them off. Please---"   
  
The assassin wastes no time, drawing his hands back to take off the collared shirt and hang it off the far corner of the loveseat. He reaches for the heavy pins keeping his utility kilt in place when a hand stops him.   
  
Ethari has his other hand assisting in peeling his pants off. A thin shiny line of pre-cum bridges his cock to the crotch of the underwear he wore beneath his costume. He reaches to remove the garter belt he had kept the jump drive in.   
  
"Actually, keep the kilt. I...I want you to wear it when we....when we..."   
  
"Fuck. When we fuck, love", Runaan supplies, relishing in his feigned embarrassment. With the billowy purple-and-silver pants bundled in a corner of the loveseat, Ethari is completely exposed to him.   
  
He straddles Runaan's lap again, and Ethari realizes he could do anything he wanted to the assassin right now.   
  
Keep him tied up and take the jump drive.   
  
Hit him (again) for lying.   
  
Render him unconscious and leave him at the mercy of Janai and her agents.   
  
He instead decides to squeeze his strong, solid thighs around his boyfriend’s hips.   
  
"This plaid looks like BlackWatch tartan. Am I allowed to---are we allowed to---"   
  
Runaan lifts the hem of the kilt, cups his hands around his beloved's glorious ass, and grinds up into him, the thin cotton of his briefs serving as the only barrier between them.   
  
"It's a dress version of BlackWatch tartan. Special Forces like myself wear this kilt on missions. We can wear this kilt in any situation, love, and had I known you would find me irresistible in this, I would've worn kilts more often. I should’ve known, since you have kilts at home. I'll start wearing this one around our apartment---"   
  
"---But i may not be able to keep my hands off of you", Ethari murmurs into his ear, reaching down to palm and squeeze his hardness, and Runaan doesn't bother to restrain the resulting growl.   
  
"Don't. I'll let you do whatever you want."   
  
"I want you to fuck m--EEE!"   
  
The surprisingly high squeak is punctuated by the smack of Runaan’s hand across one asscheek, and the upward twitch of his own heavy cock is enough for him to groan and lift Ethari long enough to pull his own briefs down to just above his knees.  
  
The plush of the loveseat and the jewelry still decorating his upper half is second to the feeling of naked, warm skin and muscle and cock rutting against him.   
  
"Feel that? All yours, love, if you want it."   
  
Ethari, stunned, only nods furiously before lowering himself to grind more firmly against Runaan's hardness.   
  
"Fuck, yes. Yes. You're the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, love."   
  
In response, Ethari steadies himself on his knees and leans back just enough so that both of them could look down at the obscene image of their cocks squished against each other. He lifts his hips and positions himself so that Runaan's cock is now nestled between his asscheeks, brushing the pucker of his hole over his boyfriend’s swollen cockhead.   
  
"You're so big. You could ruin me if you wanted, Sir. Make me walk from side to side."   
  
A flash of danger, like what he saw when they were at the bar, returns in Runaan’s turquoise gaze. One hand immediately grabs both his wrists, clamping his hands behind his back.

"How the tables turn, dancer. You're not one of my agents. Why do you call me Sir? Do you want me to treat you like a subordinate? Reprimand you for speaking and acting out of turn? I am patient, but i am not nice as a superior."   
  
"Perhaps you can make an exception for me? Please, pretty please..."  
Feeling rather bold being on top of what's probably a very dangerous, world-class agent of whatever, he leans forward just enough to pantomime licking his cock, letting a trail of saliva drip onto his crotch.   
  
Flared nostrils and Runaan's other hand gripping tightly under his chin betray his lust, and he leans in to hiss against his open, panting mouth.   
  
"The special treatment you'll get from me is that I'll ram my cock into your depraved body as hard as I please, and tease your rod but never enough to cum, any time you dare refer to me as 'Sir'. You'll have no softness or leniency from me, you wanton, needy slut."   
  
He can only whine in response.   
  
To anyone else that may be listening, and he hopes for none of that, Runaan might sound like a heartless sadist, so he relaxes when he brushes his lips against his ear and softens his voice.   
  
"Too much, love? I'm not hurting you, am I?" His grip around his jaw loosens and caresses his cheek in time to the kiss pressed to the corner of his lips.   
  
"I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me--"   
  
"---Me, probably--"   
  
"---No, not yet, I would've remembered that", he assures.   
  
"I'd like to get into you at some point. I'll buy you dinner for a change, or maybe even make you a meal. The whole wine and dine deal."   
  
"But I quite like being the chivalrous knight on dates, wining and dining for you, pulling out your chair---"   
  
"---You're fucking me in this chair. But you're not hurting me. Promise."   
  
In the dim light, Runaan’s tiny smile is relieved and genuine. Ethari reaches over to the side table and, opening the drawer, fishes out a black bottle of lube and shakes it to estimate how much remains inside.   
  
"Oh nice, there's plenty. Shall I prepare mysel---"   
  
Runaan strikes his firm asscheek again, and Ethari swears he relishes the yelp he makes as the bottle drops in their still-joined laps.   
  
"Shall I find my tie and bind _your_ wrists together for a change? As punishment for dancing nearly-naked in front of strangers without telling me?"He encircles both their still-pressed-together cocks with one hand, opening the bottle and squirting lube with the other, and begins to pump as Ethari gasps, returning his hands to the lean muscle of the assassin’s shoulders.  
  
"Fuck's sake! Stop teasing, please, Sir!"   
  
Runaan licks a stripe up along his throat.  
  
“No.”  
  
Ethari lets out a half-frustrated, half-pleasured groan as he leans in to quickly kiss him, a thin strand of saliva connecting their mouths when he comes away.  
The pumping continues as they continue to caress each other, only stopping with Ethari’s hand on Runaan’s to pause his ministrations.  
  
“I---I want---”  
  
A hand that brushes along his side feels both tender and tantalizing, and he understands it as his boyfriend’s silent form of gentleness and encouragement.  
  
“I want you to work me open, then I want you to fuck me, then....I...”  
  
“I’ve told you, love, tell me what you need---”  
  
“---I want you to cum inside me.”  
  
A breath he didn’t realize he was holding shoots out.  
  
He had never asked to be filled before. Before this, sex between them involved a condom if there was any penetration. They were both clean of STDs, but it simply made for easier cleanup. And it had taken some time for both of them to come to terms with sex, especially their schedules and Runaan’s lack of experience before their relationship.  
  
“Please.”  
  
Runaan massages his arms, a soft and intimate gesture contrasting the shadow and hunger in his eyes.  
  
“Of course. Anything for you, love.”  
  
There’s the click-squirt-click of lube being deposited, and he sees Runaan warming the lube in his hand. He reaches for their cocks when the low shine of silver reminds him.  
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake, I forgot my jewelry. Let me at least get my rings and bracelets off.”  
  
He plunks the rings next to the equipment on the little table, and as he painstakingly removes every bracelet, cuff, and bangle, he also catches Runaan’s quiet chuckle.  
  
“Don’t you laugh at me, unless you want the pinch of bangles or rings on your testicles, you stubborn bastard.”  
  
“Why so many bangles? I thought multiple bracelets indicated a bride or married individual.”  
  
“I just wanted to be fancy, and I don’t get to wear jewelry all the time, and the theme tonight called for it. Marriage wasn’t....wasn’t really a goal of mine. For a long time it wasn’t even a possibility that crossed my mind, you know. A happy, healthy, legal marriage. Sure as hell wasn’t a possibility in Scotland until December 2014.”  
  
“Britain approved same-sex marriage March of that year. It’s been a few years since then.”  
  
Ethari rips the last cuff bracelet off. “Are we really discussing marriage when you’re getting ready to pump me until I can’t walk?”  
  
“We can discuss marriage at home, moonlight, and we can practice for a wedding night right here.”  
  
Runaan decides at that specific moment to circle his hole with what feels like his middle finger, and Ethari lets out a shameless moan, quickly cupping his hand around both their cocks as he feels himself being opened up.  
  
“You are so beautiful, right down to the sounds you make.”  
  
That scotch-warm voice along his ear sparks warmth everywhere in his body, boiling heat in his loin.  
He thinks again of their eyes meeting while he accepted applause from a dance of rolling and shimmying hips, of this tall, mysterious, gorgeous stranger in a fine kilt and black boots, giving him attention in a sea of admirers, thinking of his chest and hips bared for him to see, and he begins working their cocks faster.  
  
“I might have even been tempted to ask for a night with you, to have you dance while I mixed our drinks, to take you home with me....”  
  
The slide of two additional fingers into his hole, slick and warm with lube, causes a shiver to wash over his skin, and he is helpless to it.  
  
“....but you are already mine. Aren’t you, moonlight?”  
  
He does a few body rolls down, the undulations rocking his hips against patient fingers, and he doesn’t miss the near-hypnotized stare Runaan directs at the delicious slither of his abdomen.  
  
“Yes. Yes, love.”  
  
He feels a bite and tug at his earlobe.  
  
“How are you real? I feel almost unworthy watching you move in such a way, but then, I am yours. And you are mine, now and forever. No one else may see you or touch you like I do. You drive me mad, I lose my mind, when you even look in my direction, much less reciprocate the desire I have for you.  
Your eyes, your lips, your jawline, your chest, your belly, your legs, your cock. Your body is built like everything you make, beautiful yet strong and supple. And you crave me over anyone else.”  
  
It’s some kind of miracle he can understand Runaan through the haze of pleasure slowing his cock-pumping.  
  
“Fuck me now, please. My bones feel like gelatin.”He’s gasping.  
  
“I don’t---I don’t know if I can take any more teasing.”  
  
Why is he gasping?  
  
“PLEASE.”  
  
Ethari feels hands cupping his ass, lifting him just enough to position him right, and Runaan captures his mouth for a kiss as he spears him on his cock.Runaan is trying for easing him into it, taking it slow, but Ethari is not as patient, and tired of slow, and sheathes his cock in one slam of his hips.  
  
“FUCK!”  
  
The guttural moan Runaan makes reverberates right up his spine, and Ethari rides the pleasure out on another wet slam of his hips down.  
  
“Fuck....”  
  
This stranger, this dangerous, steely assassin melts away to a Runaan he knows well, one reduced to near-manic moaning and rippling muscles and low, muttered one-word curses.  
  
One of his hands pumps madly around their cocks, while the other hand is clamped in a death grip around his waist, and as Ethari whimpers his pleasure he falls into talking dirty, something that Runaan enjoyed immensely even though he only admitted it once.  
  
“Do you normally fuck dancers backstage, Sir? Slam them on your cock like this? How does it feel? Fucking the lead dancer, one that everyone would’ve paid to bury their cocks into?”  
  
Ethari is panting between every question, a quivering mess compared to his boyfriend’s slow, measured breathing.  
Runaan stops his stimulation of their cocks, lifting his hand and running his palm in soothing circles on Ethari’s chest.Another of his silent methods of care, this time to remind him to breathe properly, slow and deep.  
His entire face softens in relief as the dancer complies, but quickly reverts to open-mouthed pleasure as Ethari grinds down upon his loins again.  
  
“Lucky you, you get to pump me for free because I find you absolutely sexy.And I was right; you’re big, Sir, long and thick. So tell me; how does it feel to live out the fantasy of maybe two-thirds of all the customers here tonight? You like how my hips roll as I ride your cock, love?”  
  
His long white braid spills over the top of the loveseat, and Ethari reaches out to grab and pull. Runaan grips him by his hips and thrusts into him harder and faster in response.  
  
“You tell me, love. How did it feel to be clothed in mere body paint and pants that exposed your thighs, swiveling your hips and moving your body like that?”  
  
_Smack.  
_  
“How did it feel to catch the attention of a tall, armed and dangerous stranger drinking whisky on the rocks, watching you, and only you, dance to such low, throbbing music?”  
  
_Smack. Smack._  
  
“How did it feel to approach him at a dimly lit bar and lead him away to privacy while other men watched with envy in their eyes?”  
  
_Smack, smack, smack...._  
  
He grips him just under his chin like he did earlier, but this time he skims his teeth along his jugular before whispering in his ear, smoky and rich.  
  
“Like one of James Bond’s many paramours? Did it make you feel like a slut?”  


Ethari whines upon hearing ‘slut’, the pounding below making the sound choppy, and all he can do is nod.  
  
So the dirty talk goes both ways. Interesting.  
  
“Good. You take my cock so well. I’m keeping you all to myself.”  
  
This should be painful, but all he feels is pleasure, white-hot in his blood as Runaan’s continues to plunge up into his sweet spot with squelch after obscene squelch, his own cock bouncing against a groin firmed and shaped by intensive exercise.  
  
Fuck’s sake, he’s getting the workout of his life, the burn and stretch of a dancer’s thighs an uncomfortable yet old and familiar pain.  
  
“God, will this be part of my fitness regiment when I’m part of your super-secret agency, love? I’m sweating like I just went through all my planks and dance floorwork with no breaks.”  
  
“Complaining?” Runaan’s choked groan is both humorous and gratifying, knowing that he’s the only one to bring someone like him down to such a reaction.  
  
“Not if it’s you---”  
  
A tightening in his loins cuts him off.  
  
“----Love----”  
  
He grips his own cock and strokes.  
  
“----I think I’m close---”  
  
Runaan takes his as a sign to lift his hips and thrust upwards as he brings him down on his cock. Ethari arches his back when the feel of his entire body clamping down on his boyfriend.  
  
“Are you close?”  
  
‘ _Little death_ ‘ describing an orgasm has never felt more true as the moisture in his mouth dries up, presumably to run away to his cock in preparation for what feels like a large pump of semen.  
  
“Love, I’m close---oh fuck, I’m gonna stain your kilt, I’m sorry---”  
  
“---That is nothing, love. I’m about to fill you with cum, so much that it’ll run down your beautiful thighs; ruin it, love. Ruin me, douse me with your cum---”  
  
He feels one hand leave his waist to squeeze his bottom hard just as he brushes a slicked thumb over the silt of his own cock.  
  
“--- _Now_.”  
  
His vision muddles but he can make out turquoise eyes rolling back, almost white, as he streaks white from Runaan’s groin all the way to right beneath his wide open, groaning mouth.He shakes from his perch as he feels himself being filled to overflowing, the twitching of the cock between his thighs absolutely filthy in all the good ways.  
  
Labored breathing fills the air as he drapes himself on Runaan as comfortably as he can, the lotus necklace pressed between their bodies. They stay joined as the assassin runs a hand along his spine, ending at his pectoral and lightly flicking a thumb over his hardened nipple as he calms his breathing.  
  
Out the corner of his eye, he spots a flashing.  
  
“Wha---?”  
  
It’s the jump drive, a green light blinking on the flask device.  
  
“Love? Look.”  
  
Runaan gives the device one look and sighs.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Ethari feels long arms that can encircle him completely wrap around him, and he’s flipped onto his back.  
  
His boyfriend bestows a deep kiss as he pulls out slowly. He makes a soft, satisfied sound as he feels the viscousness leak from his hole.  
When Runaan straightens up and looks down to admire his handwork, he decides to give him one more treat and does a belly roll to force his abdominal muscles to push out a little more cum.  
  
His nostrils flare, and he lifts one of Ethari’s legs to lay a kiss to the inside of his thigh.  
  
“Beautiful.”  
  
He takes account of himself, taking a few tissues out of the side drawer to wipe away the white streaked all over him, especially over his kilt.  
Thankfully, most of it landed on his groin and chest, and when Runaan pulls his briefs back on and flips the kilt back into place, the only indication of a sexual tryst is a sweat-dripping necklace, a few wrinkles, and some misplaced pleats.  
  
“Would you like me to clean you as well?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Ethari could feel the embarrassment and arousal warming his body as he moves to straighten himself, and Runaan embraces him one more time to help him stand up.  
  
As promised, his cum does begin slowly dripping down his thighs, and his legs shake a bit as he leans on his boyfriend.  
  
“Please get my pants. Knickers, too.”  
  
Runaan presses a kiss to his temple before taking his costume pants from its crumple in the loveseat cushions and giving it a shake.  
  
He holds him up as Ethari carefully gets dressed and, after cleaning and straightening up the loveseat and surrounding area and disposing tissues, both of them wash up in the tiny restroom, checking themselves in the mirror.  
  
“Yep, it’s clear I got fucked into next week, thanks, moonlight.”  
  
Sarcasm laces Ethari’s voice as Runaan folds himself and his attire back into impeccability, tucking the lotus necklace beneath his collar and fixing his tie back into place.  
  
“You’ve earned it, love.”  
  
He gives him a soft kiss, going back into the dressing room to get his device and phone.Ethari watches him approach the door, and a familiar ache impedes his afterglow.  
  
Watching Runaan leave through a door, under the shadow of night, is a common pain he knows is the price of admission for loving him. And it hurts moreso, now realizing that every time he walked out their door, there was always the possibility of never seeing him again.  
  
And by the way he turns back to take his hand and physically leads him along to the door now, he knows it, too.  
  
“Three days. You’ll see me again in about that amount of time. I’ll come home, and things will be different.”  
  
There is love, true love, in how he holds his face, a thumb grazing the bridge of his aquiline nose. If this is a lie, it’s a beautiful one.  
  
“I will not wait until you are asleep before coming through the door. I will not be somber, quiet, distant around you, now that you know what I do.  
You know how I am with emotions and communicating my feelings, but as time goes on I will try and talk with you about what happens on particularly bad missions. Correction, all missions.I will most likely desire simply resting in your arms and reject any attempts for sex.”  
  
He cards his fingers through his hair.  
  
“Should you become employed in my agency, you will be relegated to laboratories and the occasional conference, but I cannot guarantee you will be completely safe from danger due to the nature of our work.  
But I promise I will protect you regardless, or find the means to ensure your safety. You will most likely experience some form of stress disorder in the case of such an event, and I will give you similar treatment as you would give me when I returned home from strenuous missions, as well as arrange therapy when needed.”  
  
“Will I see you more often if I take the job? I can keep a secret, and you know that.”  
  
He pulls him close. “What secrets?”  
  
Ethari smiles. “Precisely, what secrets? Unless you have something I should know about.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
Runaan gives him one more kiss.A goodbye kiss. An ‘I’ll see you soon‘ kiss.  
  
A gentle finish to their wild, passionate fucking just minutes before.  
  
“....I know. I love you, too.”  
  
With a resolute nod, he unlocks the door and opens it, but as he leaves they both realize their hands are still joined, as if for dear life.  
  
Ethari, fighting tears and plastering a smile, kisses the back of his hand.  
  
“Be safe, my heart. Soon.”  
  
Runaan gazes at him for the final time that night, love and resoluteness in equal parts.  
  
“Soon, love. I promise.”  
  
And Ethari releases him into the unknown and the shadow of the nightclub.  
  
When he finally makes his way back to the stage, it turns out everyone been waiting for him so they could all appear in front of the audience together as the club closed down.  
  
Soren, Gren, and Corvus had bided time by impressively pitting richer patrons against each other in a game of who could make the biggest donation to the fundraiser that night. Annika and Neha DeDuren, married partners and famed faces of the restaurant scene, won with a total of $75,000 donated.  
  
“Oh, thank fuck, you’re alive.”  
  
“Soren, I wasn’t dragged away by a bear or anything---are you covered in money---???”  
  
“---Anything that touches _this_ body is _expensive_ , my man.People felt bad for me andsomeone had a bunch of safety pins, probably backstage costumers, and they just started pinning money on me, talking about hospital bills and PT. Which I appreciate, I do, but they’re worried about nothing.  
Anyway, I don’t know, we were looking for you, lots of people were asking about you and for you, especially a lot of rich, pretty ugly guys, and most of them were wasted and possibly on drugs, and I thought for one second that one of them was crazy enough to kidnap you---”  
  
“---I don’t think I’m the one to be worried about, Soren---”  
  
“---whatever, just glad you’re okay, you were gone for like, an hour---oh, there’s my cue, yep---BEFORE YOU ALL HEAD OUT, PLEASE GIVE A HAND FOR OUR CAST AND CREW---!”  
  
Ethari allows himself to relax as the employees of Sunfire are presented and shouted out.  
  
“And last, but definitely not least! The real MVP holding it all down for the Sunfire Sisters, for us, and for you!  
  
His fellow dancers pull him on stage, giggling, laughing, and he imagines Runaan’s hand gently palming circles into his chest, reminding him how to breathe.  
  
How to be present in the moment.  
  
“Zodiac sign: Virgo, likes spicy food and crafting stuff, dislikes firm pillows and being told how to dress, 6 feet 2 inches tall, single and ready to mingle! One night only, shining bright like a diamond, here he is!!!”  
  
The light is near-blinding as he steps into it.  
  
“ETHARI! CHANDA! GRANT!!!!”  
  
And he bows as elegantly as a freshly-fucked dancer can.Which must be quite elegant if the applause from the crowd and the hugs he gets are anything to go by.As the night dies down and everyone finishes closing up, he passes by the costume closet and finds Ari organizing costume pieces needing to be cleaned.  
  
“You weren’t actually in pain, were you?”  
  
The costumer doesn’t look up at him, instead smiling in response.  
  
“Actually, I very much was in pain; the timing was perfect, that’s all.”  
  
“You planned this.You were with this super-secret agency the whole time, and you somehow found out about me being a potential engineer for the agency, and you decided to help with....scouting me out, I suppose.Having a feel for me, seeing how I would do under pressure.”  
  
He isn’t outright angry.Perhaps frustrated at the complications and the secrecy, but he isn’t spitting, raging mad....not at them, at least.  
  
“Knew about you being an engineer, of course, I’ve seen your resume, but I didn’t realize you were being studied for possible recruitment.”  
  
Ari finally looks at him from the tops of their glasses.  
  
“I admit, your history with the Benachour Sisters should’ve been enough to pull you into the fold, and I knew that you and Legolas were a thing, but I just assumed that you were supposed to be kept in the dark this whole time. Didn’t think he would’ve actually suggested you for recruitment, much less told you everything.”  
  
He scans the room, crossing his arms over his bare chest.  
  
“It’s because I may be unemployed in a few days.”  
  
“Are you serious? Shit. When was this?”  
  
“Possible unemployment is two weeks running now. I should be getting a response by Sunday afternoon at the latest. Apparently, he was slated to approach me for recruitment tomorrow. I assume the information on that drive has some correlation to me.”  
  
They push the glasses up their nose.  
  
“Yes. That information would help with finding where your skills could be applied, what places you would have to remember and which ones you’d have to avoid, friends and foes, who would know about you, stuff like that.What are you doing?”  
  
“Looking for something for my top half.”  
  
Ari points out a dark blue robe used for a dancer’s cover-up. Ethari is relieved to find it’s a softer, more comfortable cotton blend of a sort, and not a faux silk blend that would stick to his sweaty skin.  
  
“With the attempted assassination of Khessa, things are most likely a jumble, and I felt it would be a good idea to push things along, see where you stood with Runaan, if it would be better to stick you with Janai and her team, or if you were good with him, see how you could handle a ‘minor mission’.  
  
I’m sorry, though. I didn’t even think it through from your point of view and that is---I’m probably definitely gonna get reprimanded for just plowing along and trying to force things along---”  
  
“----You did say I could refuse, that you could do it---”  
  
“---I did, but then Runaan happened and you just took it and ran with it, while it was on fire---”  
  
“---It’s a Scottish thing.”  
  
A raise of an eyebrow.  
  
“No it isn’t.”  
  
“ _You’re_ not privy to that information, per the UK Division.”  
  
“So you’re sticking with your Pretty Boy, Elf-of-the-Mirkwood-Forest future husband or whatever.”  
  
A smile wide with teeth.  
  
“Good for you.”  
  
Ethari turns on his heel.  
  
“I’m leaving.”  
  
“Ha! Where to?”  
  
“Gonna crash in my changing room after everything is good to go, and everything for the next night is ready.I’ll be too tired to drive home, I know it.”  
  
“You’re gonna stay here?”  
  
“I’ll let Gren know, don’t worry.There was a similar situation before.”  
  
“Got it. Oh, and Ethari?”  
  
He’s already halfway out, but he stops to look over at them.  
  
“Really, I’m sorry.This whole night....was shitty, and I threw you right from the pan into the fire instead of switching gears, and I---I understand if you’re angry at me.Or Khessa, or Janai.Or, mostly, Runaan. You can refuse recruitment, you know.It may be safer for you that way. If you don’t want to work with any of us again, I understand.”  
  
“Actually, Runaan and I were able to clear up everything.And while I am upset at tonight and all of you involved, him included, for forcing me to make decisions under pressure, there’s nothing to do except move forward and, preferably, be honest with me.And not to pull this kind of shit again.I can’t help if I don’t have all the information, and believe me, I want to help. Just...don’t treat me like I’m stupid, that’s all.”  
  
He half-bows to Ari, who softens their grimace to neutral and inclines their head in response.  
  
“Thank you. Goodnight, Ethari.”  
  
“Goodnight...‘General Leia Organa’.”  


Ethari could barely sleep, instead having Gren keep the alarm system just for the doors and the main club area, locking down everything else, and knocking out on the loveseat where he and Runaan had their tryst.  
  
He is woken up by the sound of his phone going off, and with the bleariness of sleep still blurring his vision somewhat he sees what appears to be Kazi trying to contact him through FaceTime.  
  
His fatigue is gone like a blink as he accepts the call.  
  
"Ethari!"  
  
"Yes", he groans. "How are you? How is Janai? How's Khessa?"  
  
Behind Kazi is Janai, looking at something off camera while drinking a cup of something. Amaya is next to her, seemingly massaging her shoulders.  
  
"Khessa is stable right now. Unconscious, in critical condition, but very much alive. Medics say it's a miracle she's alive. The accident left her severely burned. Janai has slept for about an hour total since last night."  
  
He looks at the time on his phone. 11:04am.   
  
Fucks sake.  
  
"Is that Ethari?" Janai's face pops up right over Kazi's shoulder, and the pixels on FaceTime shift slightly as the phone is handed to her.  
  
Even through the video chat Ethari sees exhaustion in her face and swelling in her eyes.   
  
"How are things?", Ethari murmurs, softening his voice from the usual just-woke-up brogue his voice would have in the mornings.  
"Kazi just told me you've slept the equivalent of one fucking hour. They've also updated me on the important things. I know Khessa is alive, thank God, but I'm still so sorry, Janai, I wish I could've done more."  
  
Janai's eyes are closed and a long, deep pause passes before she replies.  
  
"Taking control of the show and the club last night was more than enough, and I always know you've got my back, so thank you."  
  
"It's nothing, honestly. Fun, interesting night for sure. Corvus and Barius raked in so many tips, Sabah, Jade, and the other girls held down the bar, Ibis was great, Marcos held the peace, Soren was also good, literally had money pinned to him---"  
  
She opens her eyes and grins.   
  
"---I know, I heard about his accident; we’ll figure out worker’s comp later. I also know because Gren sent me a picture---"  
  
"Did he? Fucks sake, I told all of them to NOT contact you last night---"  
  
"---Ethari, chill, he sent pics to Amaya earlier this morning, who then forwarded them to me."  
  
A sigh of relief he didn't even know he was holding leaves him.   
  
"Ah, sorry. Right. I’m glad they listened to me. Sorry, Janai, I was up until 3, I think, making sure things were straightened up and ready for tomorrow. Er, later tonight."  
  
She smiles, and despite her situation she smiles too widely for comfort.  
  
Like Ari.  
  
"Were you? Sure it wasn’t you and some tall, mysterious stranger sneaking off after your dance number?"  
  
Damn.  
  
If he wasn't fully alert before, he is now.  
  
"What?", he says, keeping his voice level as Janai asks for her phone. She ignores him and scrolls through her phone, then holds it up.  
  
The flash of white hair and costume pants is his, but a longer streak of white hair and the tartan of the Blackwatch kilt is unmistakably Runnan's.   
  
"Who's the side salad?"  
  
"My boyfriend, who is not a salad!", he retorts, indignant irritation melting to slight horror.  
  
Janai's immaculate eyebrows raise. "A boyfriend? You never told me you had a boyfriend now. I know about the exes, but---"  
  
"Who even sent you the---Wait, what did Ari tell you? Our costume designer. Short, brown hair, glasses, experiments with lipstick colors---"  
  
"They told me what I needed to know. OH, you mean about the boyfriend?"  
  
He takes a deep breath. How many people are tied to this crazy shit? Bad enough Runaan's part of it. Rayla’s part of it. Janai’s whole family is part of it, too. If Amaya or Kazi or anyone else in the club is part of this secret-agent shit as well he might just scream.  
  
"Yes, about the boyfriend."  
  
Janai's face goes level again. She turns behind her and beckons to Kazi and Amaya, who back out of sight. She turns back to him and pulls the phone closer.  
  
"Is it true? That he knows who could've tried to murder my sister?"  
  
"Yes.....he apparently leads a small cell of agents, similar to the teams you and Khessa have. The UK branch, I guess, since the members come from all over. I know he's originally from Edinburgh, moved to London as a teenager, and he’s basically built for work like this."  
  
"Ah, Celtic branch, hear about overseas teams every so often. How is 007?" She slaps on an obviously awful and teasing imitation of a London accent.  
"Had a taste, bruv? He please your nethers right, luv?"  
  
"Janai!" A brush of his arm against his skin silently reminds him his chest is still bare. At least his robe gives him some measure of decency.  
  
“First of all, whoever told you any Brit speaks like that LIED to you.”  
  
She laughs, reverting back to her natural accent. "Oh, I know that. And hey, no judgement, honey, as long as it was safe, sane, consensual, all that."  
  
"He saw me dance", Ethari whines, clambering off the loveseat to find a proper shirt. There has to be one amongst his things.  
  
"Bet he liked that. You give him a private show?"  
  
"He loved it, and the private----Wait! No, no, no, I'm not telling you shit!"  
  
Janai's laughter buzzes through the speaker on his phone. "You've told me enough. Give me a break. I tell you shit, you can tell me shit, too."  
  
"What am I supposed to tell you? That I told him about my experience with dancing and he comforted me? That he loves me very much but doesn't love the thought of people looking at my body? That he let me tie him up and pull his hair and straight up filled me like a pastry?"  
  
"Loyal, possessive, freaky---okay, okay, I see you Ethari, I see you---"  
  
"---Don't encourage me! And he is not a freak!"  
  
Janai cackles at him, and he wants to be annoyed, but she hasn’t had much to laugh about lately, especially last night. His heart is relieved that he gave her some sort of distraction from the uncertainty about her sister’s fate.  
  
“Are you done?”  
  
She quiets her laughter and takes a long sip from her cup. “I am now. Good for you---”  
  
“---Fuck’s sake, Ari said the exact same thing to me last night! Twice!”  
  
“Because we’re happy for you, babe. You deserve a good life, with a good man. And some good dick---ep! No! Don’t give me that look, you know it.”  
  
He finally finds one of his favorite crop tops, and rests his phone against the dresser mirror so he can get dressed while still talking with Janai.  
  
“I think I see a love bite on your titty.”  
  
“A _what_?!”  
  
Another cackle from her. He doesn’t see anything, not from looking down and not from using the mirror to see beneath each pectoral.  
  
“Wait, we’re both dark-skinned---”  
  
“---Exactly, and I’m darker than you, so if I can see one, you can trust me.”  
  
He lifts his top. “Do you actually see a hickey on my breast? Because that would mean that someone else last night might’ve seen it, too.”  
  
“Oooh, naughty.”  
  
“I will hang up on you, I swear.”  
  
“I did say I think I saw, but I was wrong.”  
  
“You admit you were wrong? That’s a first.”  
  
She looks quickly to something to her right, then back at him. “I was...I was wrong about a lot of things....”  
  
“....wait.”  
  
Kazi and Amaya disappeared to her right, and Kazi is a full twelve years younger than him and Janai.  
  
“Did you just look at Amaya?”  
  
Somehow he sees her skin darken as it would with a flush gained from exercise.  
  
Or from catching sight of the occasional short-haired, athletic woman that Janai seemed to favor, being quite femme when not working.  
  
“No. We are not friends.She’s just my ride.”  
  
He can’t keep the wide smile off his face. Secrets were coming out of everywhere and everyone, it seemed, but not all of them had to be bad.  
  
And all these secret agents, toying with him and trying to box him into the role of Bond Girl, deserve a taste of their own medicine.  
  
“Good for you.”  
  
The shock on her face is almost as priceless as the look he got from a pair of starving, shadowed turquoise eyes at a bar some time ago.  
  
“Ethari!”  
  
“How does it feel? Annoying as fuck, innit?”  
  
Now it’s his turn to chuckle.  
  
“I mean it! There’s nothing between us. I was just wrong about her being a bitch is all.”  
  
“It‘s perfectly alright to have sexual feelings for someone that could truly hand you your ass on a tray. Look at me; my boyfriend turned out to be an assassin that could kill me, and I still let him stuff me like a Cornish hen for a Christmas feast---”  
  
“---Ethari, what the fuck---”  
  
“--- _La petit mort_ , indeed---”  
  
Her eyes grow wide at the French phrase.“Oh my God---and you were raised in a Hindu family, you don’t even celebrate Christmas----”  
  
“---I grew up in Scotland, I did with Christian-y friends growing up, and Runaan, Tiadrin, Lain, and now Rayla; all of them celebrate Winter Solstice. I know what birds get eaten at these feasts, and a lot of them get filled really good, just like I did last night---”  
  
“----I’m giving the phone back to Kazi, you and Runaan both nasty, Khessa is unconscious but alive and I am grateful, there’s nothing between Amaya and I, I still owe you big for last night’s fundraiser, thank you, is that it? I think that’s it----Kazi! Come get your phone!”  
  
“Love you, too, talk to you soon”, he says, still chuckling as the screen shifts around before Kazi’s face comes back into focus.  
  
“Hello again, Ethari, would you like to see Khessa for yourself?”  
  
He sighs, thinking for a minute.  
“Actually, Kazi, I think I’ll pass.I’ll take both your word and Janai’s that she’s been seriously mutilated, and I’d rather see her when she’s awake and ready to show herself.”  
  
“That may not be for some time.It could be days, weeks, even a few months...”  
  
Days, weeks, months. Long periods of time spent waiting, waiting, waiting. For his family, for his life to get better, for a degree, for a place of his own.  
  
For Runaan.  
  
His whole life is waiting, for waiting for his beloved to come home, down to waiting for metal to be purified for his projects.  
  
He is the one who waits.And he’s good at it.  
  
“She needs the time, and I’m quite patient. Whenever she’s ready.”  
  
Kazi nods.“Alright. You’ll be the first to know.After Janai, and her family, of course. Good day, Ethari.”  
  
“Thank you, Kazi. Same to you.”  
  
FaceTime closes on his phone, and he rifles through his bags for his phone charger, toothbrush and toothpaste.  
  
A ‘blip’ sound pings on the phone, indicating a voicemail or text.  
  
A voicemail from an unknown number.  
  
He opens it.  
  
_“Ethari, this is Runaan. This is an encrypted message through a burn phone.  
I’ve managed to hand the data from the jump drive over to my superiors. The terrorists that attempted to murder Khessa Benachour were mercenaries working on behalf of Aryan Nations, an American white supremacist group.  
  
To ensure the safety of Janai and Khessa’s family, relatives who are active agents are ordered to stay in place while Khessa is transported to a far more guarded medical facility in Canada. Janai will need to stay for a week in Lux Aurea before flying over to Canada under the guise of visiting a sickly, elder relative there.  
  
The position of Weapons Engineer is here for you should you find yourself unemployed.My handler for last night’s mission discovered that you were in the Sunfire nightclub at the same time I had been.  
  
I’d managed to cover up our tryst, with the help of my team, by saying I had approached you for recruitment in an establishment built on anonymity, where soliciting privacy would go unnoticed, with the additional benefit of extensive surveillance via security cameras, and Sunfire being members-only and identification for anyone going in or out being meticulously accounted for.  
  
I am being ‘reprimanded‘ for breaking protocol in approaching you for recruitment without first consulting my handler by being put off missions for two weeks, to which I will also not have access to my usual weapons, and will suffer a pay cut. So I am, essentially and metaphorically, ‘being sent to my room early for being a bad boy’.”_  
  
The deadpan of his voice brings a smirk to Ethari’s lips.  
  
_“Anyway. Agents are expected to care for their clothing and uniforms, or seek out appropriate services, so evidence of our ‘encounter’ has not been detected by anyone other than myself.  
  
I should mention, not even my teammates know that we actually had sexual intercourse. Forgive me for telling them that the ‘false tryst’ was your idea, to help both of us avoid suspicion.  
  
I told them you cleverly utilized a hair dryer to propagate sweat on both of us, wrinkled our clothing, even securing a dressing room for us with semen-stained tissue in the rubbish to maintain the cover.  
You did just enough, so that it appeared to anyone else seeing us sneak off together that we did have relations. My team wisely stopped their questions after mention the semen-stained tissue.”_  
  
A scoff.  
  
_“Sunfire nightclub, and all of its employees, are safe. There will be periodic surveillance because of its ties to Khessa and Janai Benachour, and appropriate measures will be taken if there is even the risk of danger to the establishment or any of its employees, members, or partners.  
  
If you think there is anyone else that could be targeted because of their ties to you or to the Benachour sisters, tell me when I come home. Because I should be arriving home around 23:30, give or take the usual Saturday night traffic. I am awaiting further instructions and release right now.  
  
I promised I would return soon, and I intend to make good on that promise with haste. I am being ordered back now. I am always thinking of you. Have a good rest of the day, I have a gift for you tonight. Tha gaol agam ort._”  
  
_I have love for you._ _I love you._ One of the few phrases of Scots-Gaelic Runaan reserves solely for him.He holds his phone to his heart.  
  
Today is getting better and better, a welcome change from the chaos of yesterday.  
  
And tonight...  
  
Ethari takes a long look at himself in the dresser mirror, lifting his crop top and pulling down one end of his pants to take in the sight of his body.On his hip are a few deep purple indents that look like someone had grabbed him there. Marked him, overwhelmed him.  
  
Runaan is right. He is absolutely beautiful.  
  
So he goes to ready himself for the rest of the day. And when night falls, it’s happens as it did the night before.  
  
Almost.  
  
No set performance list now, but Ethari drives home, tidies up a bit, then gets ready and drives back to the club to ensure things go nice and smoothly. If only to give Janai a little peace of mind.  
  
Ibis and Gren remind him of possible offerings from stiffed patrons and altercations that could happen as a result of last night’s fundraiser, going as far as to peek through the curtains and point out patrons to avoid. As he ensures them that he’ll be fine, through the curtain, he sees a very familiar flash of long white hair near the bar and excuses himself.  
  
It feels a lot like last night, but without the sense of danger. Through dancing lights, the same color as the purple fishnet bodysuit cocooning his figure, turquoise eyes peer at him over a glass of scotch. Alight with arousal and invitation.  
  
_I’ve missed you_ , those eyes seem to say. _How lovely you look._  
  
A hand motions down at the empty seat next to him. When Ethari approaches him and takes his outstretched hand, Runaan presses a kiss to the back of his fingers.  
  
He takes those fingers and uses them to lift his chin upwards, lifting his own chin in tandem to expose his throat.   
  
Desire flares in his lover’s gaze, and he grins in response.  
  
“Welcome back, stranger.”  
  
  
END

**Author's Note:**

> Because of the limit on the notes, I’ll do my best to keep these brief even though if you know my shit, I throw in a LOT. So here we go:
> 
> -Benachour is the last name of the Moroccan drummer I know that I mentioned in One Strawberry Tart, the one that speaks French in addition to Arabic, Spanish, and English. It’s a surname with most people that have it living in France, so I think it fits Khessa and Janai.
> 
> -Scoto-Indians are a plentiful, diverse population that has a long and (for the most part) good history in Scotland, and I was sooo thrilled that Ethari’s VA, Vincent Gale, is from Glasgow, Scotland, as I had written ‘Tinker’ to be Glaswegian long before Ethari’s full reveal. I got Ethari’s last name, Grant, from a Glaswegian man I know in real life.
> 
> -Ethari’s other surname, Chanda, is an Indian last name that comes from ‘chaand’, meaning ‘moon’ in Sanskrit. Chanda is also a last name associated with crafters, as the caste system in India had sub-castes with entire clans associated with a particular craft, like blacksmithing or carpentry. Common surnames found amongst artisans of the sutradhar (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sutradhar_(caste)) included Chanda.  
>    
> -Ari is an insert of a real-life fan and friend I’ve known for a while, and in the early stages of the fic I slotted them in as the catalyst for Ethari discovering the truth about Runaan. As time passed and I wrote and edited, Ari became so infused into the story that I had to keep them there. The only other viable replacement I could think of was Nyx, but Nyx strikes me as someone who would work the floor for tips with the power of her foreign accent rather than stay cooped up in the costume closet. Love you too, Ari.
> 
> -Jade is another insert of a real-life TDP fan that goes by Jade, who was also part of the story in the early stages of writing. 
> 
> -There were several people that wanted shoutouts in this story and I failed all but two of them. I am so sorry to the rest, time passed and I am an idiot with its passing. I am so sorry, I will make it up to y’all as soon as I find out who had asked and collect names. Oi. 
> 
> -An odd term in the story related to dance is taqsim, which is basically a figure 8 with your hips, but horizontally making the 8, as opposed to a figure 8 that’s flat and traces the shape as though following an 8 painted on the floor. Look up taqsim, taksim, or taxeem on youtube to see the movement in motion.
> 
> -For the sake of the story, I did not paralyze Soren, merely shook him up a bit. I also turned the dragon that cracked his back into a human clubgoer with a red dragon costume of sorts. Just assume that the Benachour sisters allowed people paying the fundraiser ticket to dress up as well. 
> 
> -Ardbeg scotch, specifically Ardbeg 10yr has a special place in my heart and on list of hard liquors I’ve tried, especially working in a fine wine & liquor store.  
> The story is: I basically hit on a married man, not knowing he was married because I was stupid enough to not look and see he had a ring on his damn hand, and while I internally bemoaned my foolishness and made clear I am not a homewrecker, he offered to buy me a drink as a consolation of sorts (and for giving him a bit of an ego boost).  
> We were at O’Tooles, an Irish pub, and there was the Ardbeg I had not tried before, so I got a shot of it on his tab, and we parted ways with a hug. 
> 
> That man? I mentioned him earlier. He was a Glaswegian man, with the beautiful Weegie accent, named Grant.
> 
> Beware the Glasgow accent; drunk or sober, it’ll make you stupid or make you fall in love. Beware.


End file.
